Closing the gap of time I clasp the world.
These fourteen lines like veins streaking a stone
In the old “mica mine” not far from home
Where we would rummage in the springtime cold,
Looking for those false but glistening thrills.
Their certain heft and glint against my palm,
Silver as the page around a Sunday psalm
And cold enough to sting my skin with a chill
That lingered long after I tossed it through
The spattering leaves: transfer and echo,
Discovery and release. So I lunge into
The thicket of tangled memories hoping to
See my own name on a stone or leaf unfurled:
Closing the gap of time, I’ll clasp the world.
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I can see and feel that cold spring day in the woods. I didn't realize your generation had discovered the mica mine. I explored it as well.